


Dorks Under the Influence (DUI)

by chibihaley



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon), Rick and Morty, Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Cocaine, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Demonic Possession, Drugs, Drunk Dipper Pines, Drunk Rick, Drunkenness, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, House Party, Hurt/Comfort, I’m sorry, M/M, Marco is the DD, Marijuana, Multi, Panic Attacks, Shameless Smut, Smut, Threesome - F/F/F, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Violence, Vomit, Vomiting, Weed, drunk morty smith, high wirt, so many instances of vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 18:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10996173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibihaley/pseuds/chibihaley
Summary: This is a problematic, self-indulgent fic of all your favorite dorks getting fucked up on drugs and alcohol! Suffer, children! Give into peer pressure and let the bad influences be your demise. I'm going to try to divide the fic into chapters according to which characters/ships are in the scene so that if you only want to read a specific ship/fandom you can jump to that scene and hopefully it will still be cohesive. But for the most part I am only focusing on four fandoms: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty, Over The Garden Wall, and Star vs. The Forces of Evil.I was 100% inspired by this post on tumblr by zencooly ❤️: http://zencooly.tumblr.com/post/135172307462/dork-squad-getting-wasted





	1. Pregame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is like a reverse sour patch kid. First it's sweet, but buckle up for the sour, kids.
> 
> This is only the introduction, so everyone is in this chapter.
> 
> For the purpose of this fanfic let's all suspend our disbelief for a moment and say that all of these kids go to the same school in Piedmont, California.

"See, Morty? A little knowledge of self defense can't hurt anyone." Marco beamed confidently as he retrieved the rest of his items from his locker.

  
"Yeah, haha. Except, may-maybe it will hurt the people I'm defending myself against?"

  
Marco gave hearty laugh and clapped an out of breath Morty on the shoulder, causing his not quite as coordinated friend to stumble. Morty caught himself and offered a few of his own complimentary nervous chuckles.

  
Piedmont High is not the worst High School in Northern California, but Morty Smith might beg to differ. While he has a relatively chill group of friends that easily fit into the nerd category in the hierarchy of social statuses, and the sight of Jessica walking by every day on his way to fifth period is like a cool glass of water on a hot summer’s day, this does not erase the pain of the nearly perpetual shoves in his locker, kicks to the groin, and knives to his throat from not just one, but many different bullies. Most of his friends could relate, or at least they did until a certain boisterous Mexican and his psychotic magical girl weaboo showed up.

 

About a week ago, Marco Diaz caught a glimpse of Morty bullied near his locker. The call of justice rang loudly in the Latino's ears, lifting his feet off the floor across the hallway and squarely into the predator's jaw. Morty gratefully thanked his hero, despite how extreme he thought the showy rescue was, but when he tried to part ways Marco wouldn't let him take another step without first agreeing to take at least one class of self defense. Karate, to be more specific. Morty was already reluctant and the way this guy kept prattling on did not help. It felt like an out of body experience that awakened Morty's self consciousness. Was this how Rick felt about him? The incessant need for safety and preparedness was abrasive as hell. Marco wouldn't let him blink without the constant reminder. Today he finally gave in to the now sour temptation if only to get Marco off his case. Perhaps the most notable lesson Morty learned was that attending a class that consisted of hands on contact for a generous amount of time was exceptionally sweaty and homoerotic. Luckily, his first lesson was free and surprisingly, the one time he wouldn't have minded, his drunk grandpa didn't burst in half way through to ship him through a portal into another dimension.

  
"Uh, Morty?" Marco leaned in, disrupting Morty's recap, "I asked, 'What did you think of your first lesson?'"

  
"Huh? Oh, uh, you know, it was fine." Morty rubbed the back of his neck, donned his backpack and shut his locker. He knew that probably came off less believably than intended. He didn't want to hurt Marco's feelings. The gesture was nice but a peaceful stroll back home was the only thing he had been dreaming of the entire time.

"You don't sound thrilled." Caught red handed.

"No, I am, it's just like what all those kung-fu movies talked about. We did it. So, yeah. I feel extra safe now, and that's all there really is to say." He shrugged and made for the exit.

Marco crossed his arms and squinted his eyes in skepticism. He shut his locker a little more forcefully and followed the escaping boy. "I'm not buying it. Dude, if you didn't like it you can just tell me. I won't get all butt-hurt."

"Well," Morty began nervously, knowing full well the outcome wouldn't be as promised, "I just thought that there would be a lot more fighting. That felt like more of a self-help group focusing on philosophy and deep breathing?"

"What are you talking about?" Here it comes, the offended rebuttal Morty knew all too well, "We kicked the crap out of sensei's mitts!"

"Yeah, at the end! The rest of the time we posed and yelled strange noises and talked about our feelings. I didn't even get a belt! I just feel like maybe downward dog won't protect me when, you know, Aiden Jablonski or some random hobo in a dark alley is coming at me with a knife, but hey, thanks anyways. I appreciate it."

"Oh, yeah? Well, how about you appreciate this?" In a swift motion, Marco roundhouse kicked the double doors leading outside. Little did he know that someone on the receiving end was catapulted face first into the sidewalk from the impact with a pained yelp. A clarinet case went flying and a case fit for a tuba was abandoned as someone rushed to the downed boy's side. The pieces came together and Marco and Morty quickly realized they had just nearly destroyed their good friend Dipper and his new friend in his senior year, Wirt.

Dipper panicked, "Oh my gosh, are you okay?!" He skidded to a halt next to Wirt and fumbled with his hands, unsure of what to do, "What the heck, you guys?!"

The perpetrator raised both his hands, "Hey, don't look at me! Morty was the one slandering the art of Karate!"

"Whoa, wait a minute, hang on. You can't blame this on-" Morty released a frustrated sigh, abandoning the idea of offending Marco any further, "Geez. He's not dead, right?"

Dipper's arm gently wrapped around the plummeted boy's shoulders in an attempt to bring him to a sitting position, but Wirt brushed him off as well as brushed himself off in an awkward hurry, "What? I'm fine, everything is fine. Nobody saw that, right?"

"Your face is bleeding, man." Dipper informed.

"Uh, what?" Wirt idly touched his face and the instant he looked down his fingers were dripping with blood which caused him to flail and shriek. Dipper was worried he might faint and caught him before he could hit the ground again.

Marco face palmed in embarrassment for messing up his friend's face. He wanted to prove that Karate was cool and useful like it usually is when he's fighting the forces of evil with Star, but that's what he gets for trying to show off. He ran to the door that still hung ajar, possibly permanently now thanks to his mighty kick. He called to the boys, "Wait here, I'll go get help."

"Hold on!" Dipper held out a halting gesture before Marco could take another step. Retrieving help would most likely bring a crowd, and he knew Wirt harbored more anxiety than necessary over people's opinions of him. He wasn't sure if he could help, but he would try for Wirt's sanity. He rummaged through his backpack, murmuring quizzical sounds until he found what he was looking for. "A-ha! Here we go." He handed Wirt a to-go packet of tissues, "This should help. You can take the whole pack, since we might use them all right now anyways."

Wirt blinked. A bloodied hand covered his faucet of a nose. "You just have those on you at all times?" He asked, his hand muffling his speech.

"Yeah. Allergies." Dipper shrugged and nudged the package more urgently. The bloody boy accepted and cleaned as much off as he could, stuffing the affected nostril to quell the flow.

"H-hey," Morty piped up after a moment of awkwardness, "aren't you guys supposed to be at band practice? Where's your girlfriend, Wirt?"

To be honest, the two completely forgot that their other friends were still there. From underneath his iconic pine tree hat he shot the standing boys a warning glance- but it was too late. Wirt already gestured a pious hand towards the heavens and flashed his distraught expression upwards.

"I was supposed to be falling deeper in love. But alas, my swollen heart is only a metronome now, used for no other purpose but to tick to the rhythm of inevitable anguish." He slumped into Dipper's arms.

"Uhh, translation?" Marco looked to the youngest of the group.

Dipper squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Sara dumped him."

Morty let out a sympathetic hiss, "Oh, geez, that's- that's rough, man. S-sorry to hear that. Hey, look, it's been a long day- how about we all just take a break and relax? We can go to my house and play video games or watch TV or- you know, something that doesn't take a whole lot of physical strain that's- something that's easy and chill?"

"No," Wirt drowned deeper into Dipper's chest in obstinate grief, unknowingly causing his new pillow to stiffen and turn a shade of red, "I just want to lie here and suffer until I am forgotten, like a shallow puddle to dry come tomorrow's harsh sun."

After an attempt to regain his composure, something that proved to be increasingly more difficult the nearer his secret crush slid against his now perspiring body, Dipper cleared his throat and said what he would say to his boy crazy twin sister if she were in this position as she has been plenty of times before, "Uh, well, I'm not staying here- at school- overnight into tomorrow so if you want to lie on top of me and suffer you're gonna have to come with me. Who knows? Maybe it will take your mind off it. Besides," Dipper looked up at Morty, "I've kinda been meaning to ask how you built your last science project anyways."

Morty's lips flopped down and he tapped his finger tips together nervously. His eyes shifted away from Dipper's, "Uh, yeah, about that-"

Marco cheered, "I'll make nachos!!"

\---

"You're having a party?!" Morty chastised his grandpa upon entering a monster infested hallway.

"Pr-URRRP-etty much, Morty. Trying to take a load off, you know?" The old man gave an unapologetic shrug, flask in one hand, “Just escaped prison and dismantled the government! Not that it’s a big deal, but I figured, eh, it’s been awhile.”

Morty threw his backpack to the wall, "Are you kidding me, Rick? After what happened last time??"

The man in question leaned closer, the stench of alcohol on his breath accosting Morty's nostrils, "What happened last time, M-Morty? Because if- if I remember correctly, it went pret-ty smoothly. In fact," He stabbed a finger at the boy's chest, "You should be the one who remembers the MOST considering how instead of getting shit faced y-you dragged around a big heaping wet blanket the whole time. Yeah, sure made the atmosphere nice and soggy with that wet blanket of yours, Morty."

Morty fumed, batting the accusatory finger away, "Oh, oh you're one to talk, Rick! Look, I've- I have to- better call my friends and tell them to stay as far away as possible from this place." He reached for his phone.

Rick turned in the direction of the living room and parted ways. Without looking back he shouted, "Invite them! I don't give a shit! Maybe a little circle jerk will help you lighten the fuck up."

"Geez," Morty sighed while dialing Dipper's number. He picked up after the third ring, "Hey, don't come, my grandpa is throwing a party."

"Wait, seriously? Your... grandpa?" Dipper's skeptical voice echoed in the receiver.

Flagrant rap music began to blare out of the surround sound system that Jerry attempted to install but ultimately relied on Rick to produce and upgrade sound from. Morty jammed his pinky in his other ear and ducked into the guest room, closing the door to no avail of escaping the ruckus. The room wasn't at all soundproof nor was it any less full of unidentifiable beings, but he carried on with raised volume, "Yeah, it's a million times worse than it sounds. Not that you aren't invited but more that he- he has a lot of really weird 'friends' and..."

"Dude, no offense, but I think I can handle it. My grunkle is visiting from Gravity Falls right now and I endured the brunt of his parties." Morty strained to hear his friend's voice on the other line, "Plus I think Wirt could really use a distraction right now."

Sweat began to form above his knitted eyebrows, "I-I-I dunno, Dipper... These... These things can tend to get pretty- pretty- way out of hand."

"Don't worry about it, man." Unlikely, "Oh, Grunkle Stan said I have to bring my sister Mabel and her friend, is that okay?"

He glanced nervously at his surroundings, sure that his house was already at max capacity, "Umm..."

An invasive shove from some gargantuan, vainy, inter-dimensional monster nearly caused Morty to drop the phone. The alien hurled out an ear piercing, "YEEEEAH!"

The phone nearly fumbled out of his grasp but he brought it back to his ear just in time to hear Dipper say to his dismay, "Cool, cool. I'll, uh, catch you on the flip side?"

A faraway voice that Morty assumed belonged to Dipper's sister snorted in the background, "Catch you on the _flip side_? Who _are_ you right now?"

"Uh, nothing!" Dipper's voice cracked, "Bye!"

"Wait, hold on-" But he was too late. The defeated boy grumbled and shoved his phone in his pocket. He didn't bother shutting the door on his way out of the guest room. Any expectations to relax in the living room was obviously a pipe dream but he waded through the growing crowd in that direction anyways. Contempt washed over his face upon realizing just how long it takes for a cluster of various species to trash a house. The answer is no time at all.

Smug as ever Rick welcomed him. He lobbed a lithe arm around his grandson, "So, who are you inviting to the party, Morty? Let me guess: reversed color scheme Marty McFly, Emily DICKinson, and that shameless beaner that jacks off to his own white washed culture?"

Morty glared at his uncouth grandfather, "They have actual names and they're not that!"

He tossed his arms out in victory, "Oh, shit I guessed right! T-that's one for grandpa, Morty. Unless we're counting score by each piece of shit- in-in which case, that's- that's three points for me, Morty! Three points for grandpa!" While indolently laughing, Rick nearly toppled all of his weight onto his scrawny grandson who struggled to keep him upright.

"Geez, Rick, are you already drunk?" Rick has a high tolerance for alcohol considering that he drinks copious amounts of mind numbing elixirs regularly every day, but there are times when Morty notices slight differences in his crazy grandpa's constant intoxication. Sometimes Rick burps at an alarming quantity, swears louder, or, like tonight, becomes a rag doll desperate for physical contact, human or otherwise.

Rick took a swig from his flask which Morty assumed he refilled in the short time that he spent on the phone, "In case you were wondering M-URRRP-orty, I mean, I know you didn't ask, but I don't actually give a fuck about your friends. I just really like being right, you know, some-some people say it gets old- I-I don't associate with those people, Morty."

That earned an eye roll from his current crutch, "Yeah, you 'associate' with a bunch of douche bags that don't know common courtesy or-or how not to destroy everything in the house!" As he navigated his grandpa onto the side of the living room couch, he noticed his older sister walk by with two beers in her hands. His mouth gaped.

"Summer? Are you just letting this happen?" He asked with a tinge of disappointment.

"Basically," She offered a less ostentatious shrug than the one Rick gave him at the door, more of a twitch really, but nonetheless unapologetic, "This time I'm focusing on getting totally trashed, remember? Maybe you should, like, try it." With a sweep of her ponytail she was off, hips swaying with purpose. Looks like Morty was the only responsible one left in this household.

"That's my granddaughter!" Rick called out to her with a toast of his flask, proving Morty’s thoughts to be true.

Morty massaged his temples, the idea of giving up proving to be more appealing by the minute, "I can't believe you guys are encouraging each other."

Rick pocketed his flask to grab his grandson's arms, "No, she's-URRRP- she's right Morty... Let's get riggity riggity WRECKED, broh!"

Morty flashed an incredulous look and gestured wildly out of the older man's grip, "I'm fourteen! I-I-I don't think Mom and Dad-"

Rick shook his head, eyes squeezed tightly shut as if to block out or erase Morty's typical concerns that he couldn't give less of a shit about, "Morty, Morty... When are you gonna stop s-sucking your parents' dicks?"

He furrowed his brows, "Gross."

Rick rolled his eyes, "Euphemism. Hey," He stumbled over to Morty's reluctant shoulder yet again, "We've been on a lot of-URRRP- adventures, right Morty? When have I ever let harm come to you?"

He scrambled out from under his grandpa's weight in disbelief, "What?! I don't know, Rick- how- how about pretty much every time?!"

"But look at you!" He gestured to all of him, "You're still alive, right?"

"In this dimension!" He yelled, veins pulsing near the top of his forehead threatening to burst, "A-and that doesn't make up for all of the trauma I've suffered! I have a hard time sleeping at night, but yeah, I guess I'm still breathing!"

His twisted grandpa only nodded, "See? Grandpa's gonna take care of you. And by that, I mean that you're gonna get fucked up tonight, Morty. You're gonna forget allll about your worries and cares... And it's gonna be FUN, Morty."

"Oh, geez, here we go." There was no stopping him now.

"We're gonna have a fun time, you and me, Morty. And your little friends too. All- we're all gonna get w-URRRP-asted. And it's gonna be FINE because grandpa's here, Mort- Rick is here and he's- I'm- I'm gonna... I-It's not gonna matter, Morty!"

The doorbell rang halfway through Rick's drunken speech, but only a few seconds later it was deemed useless as the door completely crashed down to the floor.

"Oops..." A bubbly blonde princess waned. She stared perplexedly at the perfectly removed slab of wood on the floor. After a few moments she brandished a magic wand and a look of determination, "Nobody panic! I can probably fix this..."

"Aw, GEEZ!" Morty held his head in his hands, eyes bulging out their sockets, "Are you kidding me?!"

"STAR!" Marco chastised his magical friend, "Knock on the door with your hand, not your wand!"

"We have bigger problems, Marco! This place is swarming with monsters..." Her wand lit in a sparkling glow of magic as she charged a spell, "Sparkle duckling parad-WHOA!"

Marco jumped out of his skin and into a basic position of defense, completely abandoning the plate of nachos he prepared, "WHAT?"

Star ceased what was sure to be an explosive attack of violently adorable nonsense to hold her cheeks and squeal in awe, "Is that a kitten with ladybug wings?"

Sure enough, a periwinkle cat of that description lounged on the recliner on the far side of the living room. Two pin up girls struggled to hold an oversized beer stein up for the feline bug hybrid. What appeared to be a CatBug chugged the last drops of the liquid and an adorable burp followed.

"Must... pet... mutated animal..." Star moaned in a hypnotic trance unable to stop her feet from leading her in a beeline for CatBug.

Marco bounded after her stepping over and squeezing between monsters and aliens of all shapes and sizes, "Star, wait! Don't accept any offerings from strangers! There could be illegal substances- STAR!"

——-

The rickety, old stanmobile screeched to a stop in front of the Smith's driveway.

"Huh, we beat my brother..." Stan Pines threw his burly arm over the shoulder of the seat to look at his great niece Mabel and her crossed-armed, prissy friend, Pacifica Northwest. Stan was weary of the former multi-millionaire's influence on his pumpkin, but figured that if the blonde would come all this way to see her then perhaps Mabel is a good influence on her. Still didn't erase how he would surreptitiously attempt to rob the child when he got back to his cousin’s and the twins’ parent’s, Shirmy’s, house where they were all staying for the time being. But first he would have to gain her trust. "See kids? I told ya you could count on the good ol' stanmobile to get you here faster and safer than whatever crazy thing my brother turned into a vehicle." He boasted.

Pacifica huffed, "They don't even have a door. What kind of barbaric place is this?"

"A place where you don't need doors because everyone is welcome!" Mabel spun her judgments into something optimistic as per her specialty. Naturally, Pacifica retorted with her specialty: rolling her eyes.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with." Pacifica sighed. Mabel began chanting those last two words with her arms in the air as the three of them crouched out of the car doors and approached the bustling house. Pacifica raised a brow to her sparkly girlfriend, but couldn't push back the genuine smile that spread across her face.

Their eyes collectively fell on an alien creature exiting the house. What could only be described as a gross, pink goop waddled across the lawn with what appeared to be acid vomit dripping from what appeared to be its lips and/or eye sockets. Stan blankly stared and planted his burly hands on his hips.

"A good uncle probably wouldn't let children stay in a house full of space monsters that reek of alcohol... Well, have fun kids!" He swiftly turned to the car, an excited spring in his step for the money that he may come to posses in the near future.

They were immediately greeted by an astonished Rick fumbling toward the door frame now void of a door. "Oh, shit..." He breathed, then nearly wailed. His eyes went wide, but they were not on the children. His body quaked with tremors which caused the girls to exchange uncertain glances at each other. Then, a crazed grin took over the madman’s face, "Sixer? Holy shit, I-I thought you were dead!"

  
Beads of nervous sweat dripped down Stan's forehead as he whipped back around to face his accuser with his hands hidden behind his back. He stammered incoherently.

A loud whir interrupted whatever lie he was about to cover up his true identity with. A glowing blue motorcycle with horizontal wheels that floated above the ground swerved to a halt just a few feet away. Wirt toppled off the back with a frightened whimper, frantically checking if all of his limbs were still attached, as opposed to the vibrant Dipper who hopped off and held his head in wonderment. The driver slid off his sleek helmet revealing the proud smile of a successful scientist and Stan’s twin brother.

"Great Uncle Ford, that was AMAZING!" An overjoyed Dipper revered.

The older man grinned, "That's physics and a few minor alterations to an otherwise useless piece of junk. Maybe you can build an even more efficient model of your own someday." Ford patted a six fingered hand on his bashful great nephew's head.

"I don't know..." Dipper remarked with downcast eyes, "This stuff is so advanced- I wouldn't even know where to start..."

Ford took a knee to meet his great nephew's height and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Dipper, have I told you that I only began my investigations once I got into college? You're young. You have more time and far better technology to surpass me tenfold."

He smiled from ear to ear, "You really think so?"

Wirt interjected the heartfelt moment they shared, his speech frenetic and almost overtaken with an errant nervousness in his breath, "Dipper I... I just remembered something. Greg! He gets temperamental when I'm away for too long- I should probably go check on him."

"Seriously? Hmm. Well," He looked to his Grunkle and idol, "Do you think you can give us a ride to Wirt's house, Grunkle Ford?"

"No!" Wirt pleaded, a grimace forming over his features.

Dipper raised a brow, "Huh?"

"No," He readjusted his approach, "it's okay, really. I'll just walk home. You..." He offered a cheerless smile, "You go have fun."

Rick stomped toward the trio, tunnel vision honing onto one man with a shared expertise in science and assholery, "Two, four... Yep."

In one swift motion he pulled a gun from underneath his lab coat and the kids watched as the point of a red laser beam appears directly in the middle of Ford’s forehead. Wirt jumped at this and scurried to hide behind his friend.

Rick demanded, "Don't tell me you cloned yourself, Sixer. How many of you are there?"

"Whoa, hold your fire!" Ford leaned back away from gunpoint, but then a visible flash of remembrance washed over his eyes, "Rick? Rick Sanchez?"

Rick didn't budge, "Answer the question."

Ford laughed full of mirth, "I see you haven't changed!" Rick pressed the weapon closer forcing Ford to assume a more serious composure. "There's just me... And my twin brother, Stanley."

Instead of merely standing down, Rick flung his arms up to the sky, gun in hand, "OH SHIT, DAWG! TWINS?"

The gruff and tired old man gave Rick a stern look, "I had a feeling you'd react this way."

"I've got some crystalized Zanite in the back," Rick pocketed the gun and waved Ford to follow him inside, "D-do you know what we can do with that?"

He shook his head and lifted his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Rick, it's been at least a decade since we..."

"Alright, whatever, old-timer." Rick shrugged then cheerfully wrapped an arm around the other twin closer to the doorway, "What about you, Stanford Number Two? You game to get wrecked, son?"

Stan took the bait with a wide grin and directed a thumb at his brother, "Hey, if it'll keep this guy off my tail then I'm all in!"

"AWWW FUCK YEAH MOTHERFUCKERS!" Rick shouted to the sky and the party inside echoed with cheers.

Ford confronted the two, specifically his twin, with a hushed tone, "Stanley, you have no idea what you're dealing with here. Rick acquires unnatural substances from corners of the universe harboring unorthodox entities you couldn't even make up in your Shack of Mysteries."

Rick rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I 'acquire' a lot of outlawed game pieces too." Ford furrowed his eyebrows at Rick's air quotes, knowing exactly what he was referring to and being the sucker for it, "Business is business and it just so _happens_ that my business leads to the sickest trip of your LIFE, DAWG."

Stan laughed, "I like this guy! Whatever it is, it sounds like fun and all I know is that I don't tend to have a lot of that whenever you're around." He gave his twin a pointed look.

Ford scowled, "Alright, fine. Don't listen to me. But don't say I didn't warn you. And I'm not helping your sorry butt up when you're seizing and going blind from the come down." With a turn of his heel he stomped back to the hoverbike, coat tails billowing out behind him.

Dipper followed and tugged on his trench coat, "Great Uncle Ford, you know this guy?"

Wirt glanced back and forth nervously between the old man with a gun in his lab coat and Dipper's great uncle. He stumbled over a jagged crack in the sidewalk when trying to keep up with the pace of the departing party, looking forward to getting as far away as possible from the dangerous criminal. He ran into Dipper's vest when Ford stopped abruptly.

"I knew him, once," Ford shared. He tried to maintain a blank expression and sturdy composure but his voice was colored with something else that Dipper couldn’t put his finger on. Something softer. He explained, "We ran into each other when traveling through dimensions..."

"Really?" Dipper's face lit up and breath shortened, "What kind of dimension was it? What did you guys do there?"

As stoic as Ford liked to remain he couldn't suppress the temperature rising in his cheeks at the end of each question, "That's... not important..."

Mabel's voice shrieked over the crowd from inside the house, "Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford! Dipper, Dipper's boyfriend! Come look, you HAVE to see this!"

Wirt blanched, "Wait, what? Hold on, I'm not-"

"I don't know WHAT this wandy thing is," Mabel raved, "But it's making glittery rainbow hamsters!!!"

Sure enough, from the inside of her palm something fluffy emanated coruscations so vibrant they could be seen through the dense crowd from where her brother and the others were gathered. The small animal peeped, making eye contact with its holder.

"Aww, squeak squeak to you too, little guy!" Mabel gushed.

"Dipper..." Wirt whispered in confidence, "Do... Do you think this crazy science grandpa is a drug dealing criminal out to get us? Should we make a plan?"

Ford overheard and shook his head, "Boy, you don't know what you're up against. Come on, Dipper. Let's leave this infantile environment. I would call it a circus, but that would be an insult to circuses."

Wirt nodded, "See? Yeah. We should leave."

"But Mabel's in there. I'm not leaving without her." Dipper firmly rejected the idea.

With a sigh, Ford gave in, "Alright, then. I don't understand how or why you two need to constantly spectate each other but let's grab your sister and get out of here." He turned his attention to the taller of the two boys, "You said you can walk home, right, Wart? Is it Wart?"

"Uhh... Yeah, yeah. I can't see how that would be a problem." Wirt lied. He surveyed his surroundings. The road leading to his house was blocked by the wobbling creature made of pink goo. Acid spurted from a wrinkled crevice near the top of the blob and rained down on the street around it. The droplets bubbled and smoked, creating a putrid essence and deteriorating all it made contact with.

"Hm, there goes the sidewalk..." Wirt chanced a look in the other direction but that's the way where he fell... Where he met her... Over the...

Naturally, he ran away from his problems and took the road of lesser evils, which happened to be following his friends and their possibly psychotic families into an other-worldly house party brimming with nearly everything illegal.

————— 

"Grunkle Ford, you've seen all this stuff before?" Dipper surveyed the room, jaw hung ajar, mesmerized by all the different life forms and their complex gadgets used for communicating, party tricks, or other amenities that went beyond the young boy's comprehension.

Ford shrugged and winced into a smile, "Eh, you get used to species like these once you spend thirty years traveling through countless dimensions unlike earth. The only things I see here that throw all sense out the window are the buffoons that walk just ahead of us and how they manage to survive given their impetuous lifestyle."

"Yeesh, Sixer, what happened? You're not as fun as you used to be." Rick complained without turning around to face him. He instead opted to flash a smug look up to the nearly identical mug of Stanford Pines, "Is he always this much of a drag, Stan 2?"

Stan puffed up his chest, "Hey, now, before you get to callin' me that you should know that regardless of time of birth I'm the alpha twin here."

Rick leaned in with a half lidded smile, "Ooh, I bet you are, big guy."

The younger boys took this arguably lascivious comment and blatantly salacious curl of lips as their cue to break away from the bickering elderly men. They added a disgruntled, "Ew," for good measure. As the elderly branched off into the kitchen, the kids entered the living room. They could feel the bass of the hip hop music vibrate in their bones and an unshakable suspicion that this would be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have a feeling it's going to be a long night.
> 
> I wanted to add Steven Universe and Adventure Time up in here too, and I guess there's still a chance, but like four main fandoms is enough to focus on as it is. Also those characters need to be protected.


	2. Rick and Dooby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weed.  
> This chapter focuses mainly on Morty with a pinch of Pinescone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/3m06C76EoEc  
> I'm sure you might have seen this video floating around. It kind of perfectly captures the idea I was trying to emphasize in this chapter and what I will get to in the end. This chapter is sadder than originally intended. It was supposed to be funny. That's what happens when you're trash, I guess, lol.  
> Two characters from another show are in this chapter but I don't think it's worth tagging them because it's not important to know who they are as they only play the roles of the random party goers who brought drugs. Enjoy!

The room was bustling to say the least. The TV could barely be heard over the cacophony of conversations between aliens and humans alike. It didn't seem to bother the two anthropomorphic creatures jamming buttons on controllers hooked up to an old school video game system, though. Vibrant pixels darted across the screen with two dimensional explosions framing the split screens. Barely distinguishable vehicles with outrageously large spoilers swerved on either side. Morty entered the room, now sporting a loose, striped tie over his classic yellow crew neck, a fruity wine cooler in hand, and an unamused look on his face.

Dipper apologized for blocking the TV as he squeezed past the blue bird and raccoon, carefully minding the controllers' cords and guiding an anxious Wirt cautiously to the empty seat on the couch.

"Aw, man! You threw me off!" The raccoon accused, screaming and flinging his controller as his virtual vehicle burst into 2-bit flames.

Dipper apologized profusely but the blue jay waved him off, "Don't worry, he's just using you guys as an excuse. He was gonna lose anyways."

"STOP TALKING!!!" The small rodent screeched.

Wirt chuckled to himself half-heartedly and stuttered, "I didn't know this was a costume party."

Morty joined them, "It's not." He took an unenthused swig from the glass bottle.

"Oh." Wirt's eyes darted from corner to corner. He tried not to stare at the human-sized animals speaking fluent English to his left, "This is weird then, right? Is... Is this not weird?"

"No," Morty lamented, "It's weird, but it's an average Friday night for my grandpa Rick. Have any more questions about my science project?" Morty flashed Dipper a meek smile.

"No," Dipper surveyed the chaos in understanding, "This pretty much explains everything."

Morty nodded and gestured vaguely to the crowd, "Yeah, if you guys want to leave, you should probably do that now before things get weirder."

"No, no, it's okay." Wirt assured much to both of the boys' surprise as well as a little of his own, "I've... I've seen something like this before, sort of."

Dipper's eyebrows raised. He sat on the arm of the couch and leaned in closer to Wirt. "Seriously? That's usually my line! I mean, when- where... How have you seen these types of creatures?" His voice was colored with a mix of skepticism and wonder.

"Oh, uh, heh," Wirt grimaced with slight embarrassment, "Well, not everything! I've never seen anything like that." He pointed at what appeared to be a human except inside, i.e. internal organs, out, "I didn't really want to see that. But animated skeletons, fluorescent eyed beasts, talking animals..." He observed the creatures sitting beside him, "I assumed it was a dream. But... maybe it wasn't?" He shook his head, "No. This is nuts. Morty's right, we should leave."

"No!" The word escaped Dipper's mouth before he had a chance to think about it.

Wirt shrunk in his seat, feeling small under Dipper's quick outburst, "Oh. Okay."

Dipper nervously rubbed his hand on his arm and turned away so that Wirt couldn't see the redness swelling in his cheeks. Wirt had to strain to hear his mumbling, "I mean, don't you want to talk about your dream? I used to have this journal... And now I have this video blog?" He smiled with a wince, bracing himself for judgment, "It's called 'Dipper's Guide to the Unexplained!'" A pained laugh followed the weak jazz hands, "Maybe I could try to, I dunno, clear up some mysteries you might have experienced?"

"Oh. Sure."

Morty felt gradually excluded so he removed himself from the conversation entirely. He lumbered to the other side of the couch and leaned some of his weight on it nonchalantly. His mind raced. He attempted to focus on the two button mashing creatures, but his friends were in his peripheral vision only getting closer. Morty couldn't help the twinge of jealousy creeping up his spine. He was just starting to become good friends with Dipper Pines. They played video games together between his frequent outings with his grandpa, a hazard that Dipper somehow understood better than anyone else. Dipper's twin sister, Mabel, was ridiculous and kind of cute but she had a girlfriend, so his hopes of finding someone closer to his league to date went out the window. Not like she was necessarily in his league anyways. He briefly wondered if Jessica would make a stunning appearance like last time but dismissed that fantasy as it was most likely too good to be true. It didn't matter. Admittedly, girls didn't plague his mind as much ever since he hung out with Dipper. He wished that he and Dipper were on the couch playing video games right now instead of these strange furries.

Condensation from the icy wine cooler made his hand clammy. It reminded him of the relief alcohol promised, so he eagerly gulped it down. It wasn't hard, but the liquid still gently tingled going down and a pleasant warming sensation spread in his chest the faster he drank it. As long as his parents or Rick didn't know, he would be okay. He did not want to put more stress on his family, already falling apart as it was. They didn't deserve to have another alcoholic in their house. He decided to strike up a conversation to further distract himself from his guilty conscience as well as his feelings about Dipper, growing more questionable by the minute.

"So what, uh, wild and zany planet are you guys from?" Morty stammered.

The raccoon spoke first, maintaining an intense focus on the screen, "Planet I'M GONNA KICK YOUR FACE IN!"

"Planet?" The taller of the two raised a brow, eyes similarly glued to the TV , "Uhh, no dude. We're from here. We work at the park a couple blocks away."

Morty drank the last drops of his beverage and set the empty glass bottle on the table, "Yeah, okay, but in an alternate reality?"

The bird chuckled, "Dude, are you high?"

"No, I just got home from school."

"Oh, dude!" The bird paused the game, set the controller down, and shared an excited glance with his agitated friend, "Take a hit!"

The raccoon threw his arms up and gawked when his mate pulled out a medium sized saffron bong with a duck for the bowl out from under the table, "What! Come on, man! Don't go passing out our weed like that! I thought we said no freebies!" This earned him a punch from the winged one, and judging by the following whimpers Morty assumed the slim fowl was tougher than he looked. That or the rodent was a weakling.

"Rigby, don't be a jerk. We gave that deranged plant spirit Benson's gum balls in exchange for this never ending pot. You know we're not gonna run out anytime soon, or ever. It reappears every time we pick out a bud." He does so and a bud materialized from thin air to replace it, "See?"

"Um," Morty shifted uncomfortably, "That sounds great and all, but no thanks. You guys can keep your magical drugs or whatever all to yourself-yourselves, just let me know when you guys are done playing so I can hook up the wii and play a game that has more than 8 bits."

Suddenly, albeit not surprisingly, his increasingly drunk grandfather belched his name as he nearly took a spill right into the spot Morty was standing in. His lab coat was adorned with liquid stains, shirt half un-tucked, pale hair completely disheveled, drool stuck to his chin. Morty blinked with wide eyes, afraid of what was to come next.

"Morty, come on, what's with you?" Rick almost looked concerned, but it was quickly replaced with disdain, "Why- why are you shitting on everyone here?"

Morty nearly flinched at the words, "What? I'm not-"

"You gotta relax, have some fu-UURP-cking fun. You can only be underage for so long, enjoy yourself while it still has that edge." Rick made a fist to emphasize his point. A flicker of nostalgia danced deep in his eyes.

Morty shook his head and tried to avoid taking in Rick's disgusting features and aroma, "That's not what I call enjoying myself, Rick."

He checked to see if his friends had noticed his grandpa acting something akin to the embarrassing mom trope except several volumes worse. Wirt and Dipper seemed to be absorbed in conversation. He couldn't decide if he preferred that or not.

Lithe fingers gripped the younger boy's shoulders eliciting a startled yelp from him, "Listen, listen, Morty, " He drew the name out indignantly, "I know you're embarrassed-"

"Wha-"

"You've never lit a bong before." A crazed look flared in his eyes.

Morty struggled out of the psychotic man's grasp, "Rick, get offa-"

Rick tottered, his flailing captive in tow, in the direction of the bong, "He-URRP- here, let me- let grandpa show you the..."

"Get offa me, Rick! Get..."

"Let me show you the works, show you how it's done." He released Morty to retrieve the bong from the anthropomorphic creatures he didn't recall inviting.

"Oh, geez." Morty watched from a safe distance.

The blue jay passed Rick a metallic grinder and, without deterring his gaze from Morty, he grinded the eternal weed. "Now, this is a real courtesy, Morty." He warned.

"Uh-huh." He doubted the madman knew the meaning of the word.

"I wouldn't normally, you know, go out of my way and waste my precious time that I could be using to get shit faced and a little freaky with some twins!" He emptied the freshly ground herb into the glass bowl of the bong and returned the mechanism to its owner, "But I'm here and I'm going to show you because you're my grandson and I don't- I don't want any pussies stinking up my lineage." From his lab coat pocket he drew a lighter and flicked the flint wheel until it ignited.

"I really don't want to do this." Morty grumbled, despite knowing it would make no difference.

Rick began the demonstration as if he heard nothing whatsoever, "Look, Morty, you just light up the weed..."

"Uh-huh." The boy focused against his will.

"Get this shit bubbling- do you know how to do that, Morty?" He released his thumb from the lighter, cutting out the flame before it could hit the buds.

"No." He hated when Rick asked questions he obviously knew the answer to.

"That's right, Morty, you don't." Rick gestured and pointed at an alarming rate, "You gotta take in a deep breath, Morty! Put-put your mouth on the bong and take the deepest breath of your goddamn life!"

"Okay, okay, can we just get on with this- this thing I don't want to do?"

"Once you've built up all that smoke, you take out this part- the- the bowl. Then you suck it all in, like this." The erudite, old man expertly performed what he had described as if he had done it a hundred times before, which he probably had. He hungrily accepted the smoke in his lungs. He looked to the ceiling, savored it for a few moments, then released a thick cloud. His head lulled in the fog. Morty could faintly make out his grandpa's features, and even when the smoke thinned and finally dispersed, the man he once knew was unrecognizable. Rick's eyelids hung low over his glassy, red eyes. A pleased, almost haunting grin twisted on his face.

Morty took a step back when offered the bong that caused his grandpa's transformation. He opened and closed his mouth to speak a few times before finally mustering out, "Geez, Rick, I don't know..." The beady eyes of the glass duck stared holes into him.

"Take the lighter Morty." He wiggled the object until Morty obeyed.

"Okay?" The uncertain boy took the lighter in one hand and the bong in the other, nervously glancing back and forth between the two.

"Do what I told you." Rick instructed, "You gotta hold the flame over it a bit, Morty. Gotta burn that devil's lettuce nice and hot.

"Mm-hmm..." Morty hummed with his lips on the bong. He took a slow breath, not taking the lighter away until saw the herbs light up a neon orange. He couldn't hear the bubbles at first so he sipped deeper until he could.

"That's it, Morty!" Morty almost enjoyed the praise even though he didn't want to participate in the first place, "Now take out the bowl and inhale fast!"

He followed the orders. The smoke hit his lungs like a truck. Morty exploded in a violent fit of coughing. The bong nearly flew out of his grasp when he doubled over, afraid he might vomit.

Rick snatched the bong back and hovered over his choking grandson, "You gotta hold it in, Morty! Breathe it in and hold it!"

Morty reeled, expelling a high pitched moan, "I think my throat is on fire, Rick!" He tried to breathe between coughs but it only made his throat burn.

"That's good, Morty! You're gonna get nice and high, Morty!" Rick celebrated. The bong water threatened to splash out the more he swung it around.

"Oh, god." Morty collapsed to his knees.

"And when you're done coughing, you're gonna take another hit! Make sure you get waaaayyy up there, Morty, so that you don't even think about all the bad things you think about!" Rick leaned in domineering with a pointed finger and madness in his eyes, "You're gonna shut your mouth and have a good fucking time- URRP- for once."

Morty glared at the psycho, "My throat is burning! This is not a good time, Rick!"

"Shh, Morty, here, I got something for you. Don't even trip." Rick sidestepped to the kitchen and quickly returned with a glass, "Drink this. You'll feel all- URRP- better."

Morty, after a few more harsh coughs, accepted the beverage only to feel a new burning sensation sting at his throat. He spit out the liquid and hacked, "This is alcohol! You gave me hard liquor, Rick! What are my parents going to do when they find out about this?"

"They're not gonna find out about it Morty! Remember, I'm your grandpa! I have science! I'm- I'm a genius! This party is going all night long! You hear that, bitches?!"

The party goers responded with whoops and clinking their drinks together. A certain, grotesquely green individual happened to walk by at that moment and cheered, "You know who _else_ is a bitch? MY MOM!"

The animals on the couch threw up their arms, waved them in the air, and hollered a resounding, "OOOHHHHHHH!" This dissolved into a series of deep giggles as one whispered to the other, "Muscle Man's jokes are actually funny when he's drunk and we're high."

"YO MUSCLES!" Rick called to the kitchen.

Muscle Man turned around. He put a finger on his chin and fluttered his eyes, "Yes?"

Rick looked down at the blob, confused, "Oh, uh, not you. Is that your name? I'm all for irony but you look like the byproduct my long dead grandmother, rip, if she copulated with a rotton avocado, n-no offense."

"Was your grandma buff?" The green man asked, flexing one arm.

"No." Muscle Man ran down the hallway, bawling at an ear piercing pitch. Rick squinted at the deformed figure and took a sip from his flask, "Fuck, what was I saying? Oh, right. Hey- hey muscles- Stan! I bet my underage relative can get more fucked up than yours!"

"A bet, eh?" Grunkle Stan stomped out of the kitchen and cracked his wide knuckles, "You're on, nerd! The smart money is on Mabel, really. She can eat candy out of the bucket, like she's been training her stomach to handle intense forms of liver damage for years."

Ever since Morty erupted in coughs, Dipper's surroundings had his apprehensive attention. He threw one arm over the back of the couch and asked, "Grunkle Stan, is this legal? Are you really okay with this?"

His great uncle smirked, "Kid, listen. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. But if you are curious to experiment, I would rather you do it here in a 'relatively' safe environment, " The wavering of his hand didn't give Dipper much comfort, "With friends you trust. Where I'm close by and can step in if anything goes helter-skelter, rather than in some shady alley out in public. Take it from me kid: life is short. Death is inevitable."

"Are... Are you okay?" Dipper raised a brow. He didn't expect that dark of a phrase to come from his careless Grunkle, although, on second thought, he can hardly expect anything from that old man.

"I've had a few drinks." Stan confessed, "Also, I really don't want to lose that bet, so pick up the pace, kid!"

Rigby handed Dipper the bong. Wirt flinched away from the contraption, stuck in the middle. Dipper scanned his audience with dread. Their eager looks drove him to shut his eyes.

 _'Looks like I'm stuck with Stan's dirty work, yet again...'_  He stared at the bong. _'It's_ _just weed.'_ Dipper's inner voice was now the loudest in the room.

_'You've read about cannabis. You know that solid science says that marijuana has therapeutic effects. It could help you loosen up. Come on, Dipper. Haven't you always wanted to see what it's like to be high?_

_But... what if you end up like Morty? Will everyone think you're stupid if you can't do it right? What will Wirt think? Does Wirt even like any of this? Does he even like you? Is he even...'_

Dipper jolted out of his seat, "Uhh, I just realized! I have to uh, go to the bathroom! Sorry, guys. Looks like it's all yours for another round! Uh, here." He handed the bong to Wirt with a wince.

"Well- don't give it to me! I don't want anything to do with this!" Wirt raised his hands defensively.

"Ugh!" Rigby groaned at having to get up from his comfy spot on the couch so he could grab his bong back, "You all suck at this! Give it back! Let me show you how a pro does it, hm, hm."

Dipper absconded the room.

The blue jay scooted closer to Wirt, "You guys don't suck. Watch this."

The second the raccoon inhaled the smoke, he coughed twice, then immediately, as if he was only expecting another cough, a dollop of vomit escaped from his mouth. The room burst with laughter. He screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *in a Jeff Foxworthy voice* If you incorporate the word, "abscond" into your vocabulary, you might be a homestuck.
> 
> Oh and I should probably make the timelines more clear. I'll most likely incorporate it in the fic but here is a list just for brevity's sake. Spoilers if you aren't caught up with each series:  
> As for Rick and morty: probably starts right after Rick gets out of prison, and that's most likely why there's a party in the first place.  
> Gravity Falls: after weirdmageddon, but the grunkles are taking a break from their travels probably because they started fighting again.  
> OTGW: it's maybe been like a few weeks since he was in the unknown  
> Star: I started writing this after I saw the episode where Tom and Marco hang out so Marco and Jackie weren't a thing and Star clearly hasn't left yet so. That's the only one that doesn't take place after the season finale lol.


	3. (Pinescone) Way Over The Garden Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Didn't think I was gonna update, didja? Neither did I, but your comments actually meant a lot to me and inspired me to keep going. So don't ever think that your words are useless because they aren't! They can be the driving force to push creators. So thank you for your feedback, I really appreciate you!! Sorry it took so long.  
> This chapter focuses on Pinescone or Dipper x Wirt with a splash of Morty at the end.  
> TW: weed induced anxiety attack.

Rick Sanchez is a man of many titles: most wanted across multiple dimensions, species-wide expert nymphomaniac, and the smartest man in the entire fucking universe just to name a few. He's earned these high esteemed titles effortlessly and took pride in most, despite not giving a fuck about any troglodyte's worthless opinions. One title he was not keen on possessing, however, was "Thrower of Lame-Ass Parties," and he was coming too dangerously close to that precipitous edge for his liking. It's not like he actually gave an ounce of a shit about his dumb, whiny-ass, piece of shit grandson, but he didn't have to be a genius, regardless of already being one, to notice that that piece of shit wasn't having a good time. Again, to reiterate, it's not like he cared, but maybe it was time to kick it up a notch and turn up the heat. You know, for the sake of the party and his reputation as the most irrefutably superior motherfucker to exist ever.

            "Hey." He said once, squinting to see through the invisible marijuana fog his brain was quickly soaring though, "Hey," he said once more, louder, at no one, "Jesus!" He scowled at an innocent, yet all too unknowingly complicit Morty and then scanned over all his dumb little friends, "When did this turn into a sausage fest?? Don't you dumbasses have any friends with a double x in their DNA? I'm talking about chicks, Morty!"

            Star, from a far-off, indiscernible corner of the party obscured by a crowd of amorphous beings shouted in offense, "I'm right here!"

            Morty rolled his eyes, reddening and glassing over by the second. He doubted Star would be able to hear him over the mass of the crowd and thumping music so he wasn't about to put in the effort of raising his voice, but nevertheless he said, "No, he means do we know anyone he can hit on."

            Rick shook his head so hard he almost fell over. "Wrong again, Morty. Trust me on this one, Mo-URRP-Morty, I'm solid right now. I've got my hands full. I'm just saying, the ratio of drills to tool sheds is painfully unbalanced if you catch my drift. Also, Morty, don't ever accuse me of something as arbitrary as pedophilia. If I considered going down that rabbit hole, which you realize I could have done at any time by now, on the unlikely chance that I would actually get caught I would then have a limit of how close I could get to you and that would REALLY hinder our adventures, you know, Morty? You have to think logically about these base-URRP-less accusations, Morty. Also, gross."

            Stan rested his hefty elbows on the back of the couch, leaning over the empty space where Dipper sat only seconds prior. He snapped his fingers in attempt to jog his memory. "Hey, what about your one friend... Red hair, always wore that fake gerbil on her head, I dunno- Willy or something."

            "Wendy?" Mabel's head popped up from the crowd, like a mole from a burrow, and Stan restrained the instinctive urge to sock the abruptly materializing creature just out of his peripheral view seconds before quickly realizing it was in fact, his beloved great niece.

            "Sure." After fighting the end of the world in the same shack that he hired her to work in years before, Stan still blanked on the red-headed teen's name. There may have been minor fragments of memory that he still hadn't fully regained since the incident, although he somewhat doubted that he ever committed her name to memory in the first place.

            "Oh my gosh, that's a great idea Grunkle Stan!" Mabel whipped out her phone, adorned in a DIY rainbow bedazzled case, at rocket speed, "I'm calling her right now!"

            Suddenly, a flustered Dipper emerged as discreetly as possible from the shadows, hushing his sister and dragging her away from the others. "No, Mabel, you can't! What are you doing?!"

            She gave him a confused look, surprised at her sweaty brother's dramatic desperation. "Inviting Wendy! She loves parties, right? What's the big deal anyways? I thought you guys were just friends again, aren't you?"

            "Mabel! You know that's impossible!" Dipper bemoaned, "I can't have _two_ completely unattainable crushes who are too old for me in the same place at the same time! What if... What if the two of them fall in love? I don't know if I can handle another rejection like that..."

 

            There was a pause.

            From the other line of Mabel's cell, Dipper heard, loud and clear, the voice of Wendy Corduroy. "Uh, yeah. I'll be right there. Where did you say you were again, Mabel?"

            Dipper wished to die a severe and humiliating death.

            Mabel replied sheepishly, "Maybe you shouldn't come after all."

            "Maybe," Wendy said, crushing Dipper's soul like a ton of bricks shattering glass, "But the whole point of a house party is for people to crash it, right?"

            Mabel gave an apologetic smile to her crumbling brother and said, "Okay, I'll text you the address!" She then mouthed, _'I'm doing what's best for you!'_

Wendy spoke again, "Well, I won't be there until super late- gotta catch a plane- but I'll be there, okay? So you party animals better still be at it by the time I get there."

            "We will! Promise! Right, bro bro?" She prompted Dipper, who nervously replied with a jumble of incoherent but mostly positive sounding noises.

            "Dope, I really miss you guys. Can't wait. Peace!" Wendy said in that deeper, boyish voice she pulled out every so often.

            Dipper covered his face and tumbled backward into a wall.

            Mabel hung up and dashed to console her favorite person. "Come on, Dip-dop. This is gonna be great! It's been so long. I'm sure Wendy's forgotten all about all the embarrassing stuff you did." He groaned. "You're a new person now. You're older, wiser, and guess what? We saved the world together! If you can beat an evil triangle guy, I think you can beat a little awkwardness, right?"

            Dipper sighed. He knew that his sister only ever wanted the best for him, and in a way she was always right, but he didn't like being forced into situations that flared up his unbridled anxiety. He wasn't outgoing or as socially adept as her. She had no idea how exhausting these tests of constitution were on him. But as much as it wore him down, he almost always found himself sharper and stronger than before as a result. Despite knowing all of this, his belly still did flip flops and his heart beat out of his chest.

            Mabel waved her hand in front of his face. "Hey, earth to Dipper Pines?" She added a walkie-talkie sound effect, "Come in? Roger?"

            "Roger that," He said tiredly, "I'm... I'm actually gonna go to the bathroom now."

            He read the hurt on his sister's face like a book. He knew she didn't mean to cause him distress. Still, he wasn't feeling too great and needed to break away from the crowd. He passed by Wirt on his path, far enough to not be seen but close enough to overhear him talking about Sara again. Ugh. He wished he would just get over her already.

            Wow.

            Now he knows how Mabel feels.

            But there was a deeper reason for Dipper's distaste of the subject of Wirt's ex than irritation alone.

 

\---

            The bong on the low coffee table stared bleakly into Wirt's soul. An amber vase, handcrafted by the devil, granting visage to the herbal oasis that whispered augmented promises of transcension. Why did they just leave it sitting there? Someone could knock it over, or... partake without permission, or even steal a sample without prying eyes at all. Wirt ran his long fingers through his ash brown hair, sticking out in all directions as it was. What was he thinking? He didn't belong here. He should never have entertained the idea of lingering around with these otherworldly monsters, all but surrounded by depravity and poisons. What would Sara think?

            "Who's Sara?" The tall blue-jay asked.

            "WHO CARES?" His rodent friend screamed over the electronic music blasting from the TV.

            Wirt emerged from his swamp of thoughts and blinked hazily when his eyes found reality once again. "What- how did you... How do you know Sara?"

            Mordecai looked at Wirt as if he had grown a second head, not that that would be out of the ordinary for him especially given his current state of mind. He shrugged it off and returned his gaze to the video game the two animals were still engrossed in. "Uhh, you kinda went off right now, dude. You said a lot of poetry and mentioned someone named Sara. Is that your lady-friend?"

            Great, now he was involuntarily spouting off his innermost thoughts. Greg informed him that he was privy to his somnambulatory prose, but he didn't think he did that sort of embarrassing thing during the day time, in public no less- while completely conscious! He groaned, then realized he still hadn't provided an answer.

            "Oh, uh, jeez. I don't know." Wirt sighed despondently.

            "You don't know?" Mordecai questioned.

            "Well, she... She was. My girlfriend, I mean- until a few hours ago, I guess? I don't know." Wirt said ashamedly.

            Rigby mumbled under his breath, "Amount of people who care: nobody."

            Mordecai nodded and hummed two thoughtful grunts before saying, "I know how that goes."

            Rigby snickered, "Yeah, you do! You're talking to the mayor of Dumptown, U.S-AUGH!"

            Rigby's belligerence was cut short by Mordecai's firm fist. He continued calmly, "What happened, man?"

            "What happened?" Wirt repeated, not entirely convinced the bird meant to probe into his prosaic woes.

            "Yeah, like, who broke up with who?" Mordecai shrugged. He wasn't giving Wirt his full attention, something the poet was used to by now, but he kept pressing for details.

            Wirt shirked around the question, skeptical and hesitant to give into full vulnerability, "Oh, you can't really be interested in that... I mean, are you? Interested, that is. It's really nothing."

            Mordecai chuckled, "You sound like me when I was younger, dude. I just figured we could compare break-up stories. It might make you feel better."

            Rigby voiced his concurrence, "Yeah, Mordecai failing at everything always helps me feel better about myself."

            Okay, here goes. "If... If you say so! Uh, where to begin..." He pictured Sara's face, not yet faded from his mind's eye, "Her eyes... The night sky grows envious of their gleam. Flecks of priceless gold dust festoons her gentle irises. Wouldst any man truly know the incomparable depths-"

            "Uhh, whoa dude. You've got it bad. Can we maybe get the abridged version, please?" Mordecai queasily requested.

            "Yeah, and in english?" Rigby added insult to injury.

            "That was... english, but... Yeah, okay." Be normal, Wirt. Be cool. "I, uh, fell deeply in love with this girl, Sara, at band practice. She's... really pretty and smart and also the school mascot so she has all these cool friends and they all go to parties and she dances and knows how to play the flute. She's in marching band!"

            Rigby moaned as if this story was sucking away his life force. Mordecai ignored him. "Shut up, Rigby. But, like, how did she do it?"

            "What? Oh, you mean... well, before we got together I, uh, made this tape for her." Wirt explained, trying to stay to the subject as much as possible as to not upset the raccoon any further.

            Mordecai eyed him suspiciously, "What _kind_ of tape are we talking about here?"

            "Uh, cassette?" Wirt said.

            Relief seemed to wash over the fowl. He nodded with respect. "Mix tape? Classic."

            Wirt nervously laughed, "Yeah! Except... It was all stuff I wrote. So, I couldn't let her actually listen to it. Greg and I, that's my step brother, we ran away after he gave it to her. And then I think I died."

            "What?" Mordecai was fairly dubious of that, "But you're alive now."

            "Yeah, but... There was this place. And this blue bird that I also may have never really gotten over..." He stared at his hands. His mind tortured him with images of her still there in his palm, still chastising him with jabs to his pride as icy as the cold winter nights there, but with subsequent smirks and eye rolls as warm and nostalgic as campfires. He missed her. Memories are all he would ever have left without any known method of reaching her again.

            "Whoa, what?"

            Wirt looked up at Mordecai with a nervous hand massaging the back of his neck. He didn't say all of that out loud again, did he? He tentatively asked, "You're sort of a blue bird, right?"

            Rigby grumbled, "See, I told you they were already high."

            Wirt addressed him, "No, I haven't taken any stimulants or whatever."

            Mordecai paused the game, sending Rigby into a conniption, then gave Wirt his full attention. "Hey, listen. I'm not gonna lie- I did some experimenting in college, but... Aren't you kind of young?"

            Wirt was taken aback. Did he think...? "What? No! No, no, I'm not... implying anything! I'm straight, for one thing! Just... straight for bluebirds? She turned out to be a girl, though! I mean, she was a girl- the whole time! Just... oh my gosh."

            Rigby said, "Well, that was weird. Can we keep playing now?"

            Wirt folded into himself like a turtle escaping into its shell. The bong appeared in front of his downcast face, accompanied by a lighter. On the other end, Mordecai said, "Maybe you should take a hit. Sounds like you need it more than we do."

            At his wits end, he complied. "Yeah, okay."

 

\---

 

            Dipper stared long and hard at his intense reflection in the bathroom mirror.

            "Alright," He whispered firmly to himself, "All you have to do is get two drinks from the kitchen somehow or another, come back and tell Wirt: 'Oh, what's this? They gave me two instead of one, what a crazy, random...'" He sighed and rubbed his head in frustration, "Come on, Dipper. You said you wouldn't do this. Get a hold of yourself, man. Remember what Mabel said: Be yourself."

            He smiled, but his face seemed all wrong. Too long and kind of gaunt. When did his eyes get so dark? His mind flashed to the nightmares... Visions of the apocalypse still plagued his mind at night, making a solid eight hours of sleep hard to come by these days. The incomprehensible horrors will probably haunt him until his death. But he is alive. As of right now, the only horror he feared was rejection. Obviously, he understood that this was a insignificantly small fright in comparison to mass destruction, but at the moment it filled Dipper with a heavy, unstoppable dread.

            "What if it ends up like Wendy?" He groaned miserably, "Why do I always fall for the wrong people? He's too old for me, just like..." He felt something clench his heart and his throat tightened. No... He slapped his face gently a couple of times to knock himself out of it. He was NOT about to become that stereotypical loser that cries in the bathroom at a house party. "Be cool, Dipper, be cool. He's only two years older. And a guy."

            A thought dawned on him. It was one he had considered briefly before, but now it weighed on him like lead in his stomach. "What if he's not even..." He couldn't bear to face his reflection now, afraid that once he saw his devastated expression it would somehow bring that devastation into fruition.

            "What is wrong with me?"

            A knock on the door startled the boy so bad he nearly jumped out of his skin, and not without an embarrassingly high pitched yelp.

            "Uhh, someone's in here!" Dipper responded to whoever or whatever was responsible for his slight heart attack.

            "Bro bro? You've been in there all this time?" It was Mabel with another welcoming denunciation.

            "Mabel? Yeah. Uh. I'm coming out."

            He was greeted by his sister trying but failing to hide a far too smug face. She quipped at Dipper's expense, "Too bad that wasn't a closet! HEYO!" She raised her hand high in the air for a high-five. It hung there, un-slapped, for a good few moments before she decided to clap her own hand in celebration of her clever wit.

            Dipper frantically shushed her and chided, "Mabel!"

            She blinked to her brother's newest crush sinking into the couch down the hall then back to Dipper. "What? You mean you haven't told him?"

            Dipper buried his gaze into the floor and wrung his hands. "I, uh, was thinking about it..."

            Mabel squinted at him skeptically. She scratched inquisitive fingers at her chin and suspiciously eyed him up and down. Her eyes caught a glimpse of a piece of note paper sticking out of one his vest pockets. With an almost offended gasp she snatched it from him, unfolded it and began reading, "Step one: make small talk... Dipper!! I thought we were past this!!"

            Dipper hung his head in shame. "I know... I just get so nervous around him! I forget what to do and say and I want everything to go perfectly. I forget how to breathe, Mabel!"

            Sure enough, step two on the list was the reminder: breathe.

            She shook her head. "I can guarantee you one THOUSAND percent that THIS sheet of perfectionist commandments is what's making you nervous! You're getting in-"

            "I'm getting in my own way, I know. I remember."

            "BURN IT!" She ordered loudly.

            Dipper laughed at the extremism. "Alright, alright. I'll throw it away."

            When he went to grab the paper Mabel crumpled it and stretched her arm out of his reach. "I have a better idea." She said, "I'm flushing it down the toilet!" Dipper tried to protest and grab it but she stuck a finger in front of his face and commanded, "And YOU are going to go out there and be yourself and totally impress that dream boat without a script. Got it?"

            Dipper cringed at the thought, but knew it was futile to go against his sister. Reluctantly, he nodded and said without much enthusiasm, "I'll try."

            The world wobbled around him as his sister violently squeezed his arms and shook him back and forth while yelling, "No!!!"

            "I will!" He corrected his last statement to placate his persistent sister and self proclaimed "professional" matchmaker, "I'm going to!"

            She smiled, a metal decked beam of light more powerful than the sun at times, and said, "That's more like it! Now get out of the way, I've had to pee really bad this whole time."

            "Oh. Sorry." He let her through.

            "Love you, dummy!" Her last parting words rung out and she shut the door behind her.

            He chuckled to himself. "Thanks, Mabel. You know, you make everything look brighter." He remarked to her through the door as he noticed how clearly his surroundings became. It was metaphorical, and yet... positively literal. "Like I can see things in high definition..."

            Mabel peeked her head through the door and gave him a concerned look. "Dipper, you didn't... you didn't eat those brownies that I brought, did you?"

            "What? No." He lied. "Okay, maybe I took one before we left. Ford's idea of dinner kind of got overridden by his idea of futuristic transportation so I didn't really have anything to eat."

            "How much did you eat exactly?" She asked slowly. He took notice of her asking how much instead of how many.

            "Just one, why-"

            "A WHOLE brownie?" She interrupted loudly before he could finish.

            He furrowed his brows and asked irritably, "Why? Did you put something non edible in them, like glitter or glow sticks? I noticed the pop rocks, but that's the usual."

            She erupted in snort laughter that devolved into something mischievous then explained vaguely and unsettlingly, "Nope! Not that! Oh, boy. You're gonna have fun tonight, bro bro. Just give it time."

            "What?" She was impossible to understand sometimes, he swore.

            "Give it time." She repeated creepily and disappeared behind the door once more.

            A small drop of fear sunk under his skin and began to travel through his body. "Oh, no... What did you do to me?" But there was no response.

            He faced the aforementioned high definition party. Seriously, it was like a wide screen movie. Everything came into focus. When he looked left and right it was like a steady, slow pan of a camera. He could see every microscopic detail of the carpet, every thread in people's clothes, and he was beginning to think molecules would soon be as clear as day. The room was so much bigger and brighter than he remembered. He wasn't sure if he was in control anymore, but somehow his body transported him from one end of the hall to the arm chair of the couch in what simultaneously felt like everlasting days and mere seconds. He knew Wirt was to his left now, but he was too nervous to look. Be cool. Be normal. Be... yourself. He breathed in, feeling the air travel into his lungs and the oxygen carried off by blood vessels. It was a terribly funny feeling he never paid much attention to before now.

            "Hey-" His voice cracked. He died a little inside, coughed, then tried to deepen it, "Hey."

            "Oh. Hey..." Wirt looked different. His body slouched into the cushion as if all his limbs were gelatin. His eyes were glassy and assumed a thousand yard stare with a bitterness in every twinge of his face muscles. A beer hung limply in his hand over the couch's edge.

            "Uhh, how's it hangin'?" He doesn't know where this new vernacular came from. Dipper meant the question to portray a hint of concern, but that was made more difficult to read since he snorted half way through it for no good reason.

            "Hmm?" Wirt squinted at him with glossy, almost reflective eyes. A lazy smirk made a brief appearance before he remembered what he was thinking about and glared back into no point in particular. "Oh. Like... I feel just like a boat." He chuckled forlornly. His speech was strangely lilted and slow. "Yeah, twisting and spinning and floating around in inky, sticky blackness." This prose seemed to resemble something closer to slam poetry than usual. "The oblique horizon is uninviting. Treacherous. The deep dark depths of the ocean? Numb"

            "Wow." He wasn't sure if he caught all of that and was about to ask for clarification before Wirt started.

            "I'm going to die alone, aren't I?" He said out of nowhere.

            "No!" Dipper immediately and desperately responded, much to his chagrin. Backtrack. "I mean, don't say that, man."

            Wirt continued as if Dipper hadn't yelled anything at all. "Everyone I love says goodbye. And parting is such sweet sorrow." He said the line as if mimicking an actor on stage, resolving with a spiteful slump further into the couch.

            Dipper was pretty sure he's heard that line somewhere but couldn't quite remember where. It didn't matter. Right now he needed to console Wirt. "Then..." he took a deep breath, "Then they don't deserve you."

            "You're right." Wirt sat up, the realization dawning on him. He remarked plainly, "They deserve better."

            Dipper panicked. "That's not what I meant!"

            But Wirt did not seem offended. He looked contemplative. "No, I think that actually makes sense. She'll find someone who can be with her. Someone who already knows their way around and isn't stuck like me. Someone who has it all together. Someone like Jason Funderburker."

            If there was anyone that Wirt talked more about than Sara, it was this Funderburker guy. Sometimes Dipper didn't even believe he was real, and that was somewhat true, because although Mr. Funderburker did in fact exist- Dipper found this out by bumping into him one science fair, Jason made one of the fifty volcano displays that Dipper had to narrowly avoid placing his and Ford's newly refined perpetual motion machine by- Wirt's view of him was extremely fabricated. No one should be put on a pedestal that high, but least of all a guy with a bowl cut who sounds like a dying goat. If that was his idea of the perfect man, maybe Dipper has a chance after all. He had a lot to say about the guy but his brain was too foggy to be bothered with mouthing all of those words. Instead he mumbled a touch indignantly, "I think you have it all together... and if Sara can't see that, then..."

            "Who?" Wirt cut Dipper off.

            Dipper blinked. Was he transported to a different dimension? "Sara... I thought... That's who you were talking about, right?" That's the only person Wirt has been talking about all day. Did he forget? Is this real life?

            "Oh! Right, yeah. Sara." He groaned loudly and shoved his face in his hands, forgetting about the beer there and nearly thunking the glass bottle into his forehead. So he did forget, okay. He was about to ask who Wirt was lamenting over in the first place when the glass bottle came swinging into his vision. Wirt offered, "You can have it. I think I've had too much."

            "Seriously?" Dipper asked, nonplussed. He's never even tried alcohol, save for the few times he accidentally mistook Grunkle Stan's spiked soda for his own and quickly spat it out, but if he accepts the same drink Wirt's been nursing then... that could be considered an indirect kiss. The idea made him sweat.

            "Never mind, it's fine, I'll just put it right here on the table." Wirt said.

            "No!" Dipper lurched for the bottle. "I'll... I can take it. The beer, I mean."

            So Wirt handed it over and now Dipper held the one way ticket to spit swap town. He stared at it, unable to bring himself to drink it just yet. It would be too weird if he drank it immediately, right? But now Wirt was giving him a face like he wasn't sure if Dipper wanted to drink it or lock it up in a display case. Maybe not drinking it was weirder, okay. He took a sip without trying to think too much about how Wirt's lips were on this minutes prior and now his lips were on the ghost of Wirt's lips and how this definitely in no shape or form counted as a first kiss which Dipper one hundred percent did NOT have already with a merman and now there was way more liquid than he originally thought that was spilling out of his lips and onto his shirt and oh god make it stop before he starts choking please god why.

            Wirt apparently did not take notice though, because the next words out of his mouth were: "Do you ever think our only purpose on this earth is to be trapped here until the relief of death?"

            "All the time." Dipper answered as if he had a buzzer on a game show. It was admittedly a reflex response, but part of him felt that way sometimes. Late at night, after hours of staring at the journal and getting absolutely nowhere. Sometimes he knew exactly how one could come to that conclusion.

            But Wirt laughed at the suddenness of his reply and that laughter spilled straight into Dipper's soul. He wasn't sure if Wirt was laughing with him or AT him though, and that thought sent a stinging and sinking sensation to his heart. But the way Wirt tossed his head back and ran his hand through his tousled, mousey brown hair made Dipper's heart soar. He wasn't sure if it was Mabel's special brownies induced with who knows what or Wirt's contagious laughter, but Dipper couldn't contain his own laughter from escaping. He definitely knew it had something to do with his brain chemicals when he couldn't remember what they were laughing about, or for how long.

            The room seemed to grow in size. It pulsed. He felt the beats of the music reverberate through his body and dancing in his veins. He didn't take note of when they stopped laughing, but when he looked at Wirt's perfectly sculpted profile, his eyes now closed, a content lift in his lips, everything stopped. The sounds, the motions in the room, his heart. It all slowed down considerably. He forgot how to breathe.

            Suddenly, Wirt was everything. He knew nothing else. He forgot that anything else ever existed. All he could see in front of him was Wirt, highlighted in front of a background that faded away.

            He reached for the paper he had tucked away in his vest and found nothing in its place. Where did it go? He needed that. He didn't have the answers. He scrambled for what to do. He patted every pocket frantically. He needed to know what he was supposed to do next or everything was going to go wrong.

            "Dipper?"

            His name sounded completely foreign. Alien. He looked down at his knobby knees. Small legs hung off the edge of the arm of the couch. He felt very high and light. Weightless. The floor seemed a great length away, dangling far beneath his shoes. For a moment, he was afraid he might fall and die. He couldn't move. Dread struck him. His heart raced. His limbs felt heavier, they sunk into the floor. He didn't know what would happen if he melted away and that scared him. His body would be gone. It would hurt. It did hurt. He was in pain.

            "Whoa." He heard Wirt say, far off in the distance.

            Dipper found Wirt's deep brown eyes looking into his. The color was somehow comforting. Not as loud as the wild blur of purples and yellows that swirled in the background. The colors swayed in ways that unsettled him, disgusted him even, but Wirt's soft beige sweater and pale skin soothed him. It reminded him of home, which wasn't really here in Piedmont, California. Gravity Falls was his true home. Wirt's messy hair were the branches that caressed the lovely orange sunlight, he smelled like the fresh oak of the Mystery Shack after a light rain, and his eyes were filled with the same stars he missed seeing so clearly every night. The falling sensation continued. Maybe he was falling in love. No, he was actually falling, right into Wirt. Literally tipping off the edge of the couch and unceremoniously crashing into his friend's side.

            With a laugh so brilliant and melodious, Wirt caught the falling boy and made room for him to sit, which was a bit of an arduous task with limbs like jelly. Dipper had a difficult time processing his new situation. All he knew is that he was warm, inside and out, yet he watched his fingertips shiver. He almost forgot about the drink in his hand. He took a careless, somewhat clumsy sip. The liquid was lukewarm but the taste was not quite as terrible as he remembered beer to be. He liked the sensations of it going down. He could feel the liquid traveling through him, the carbonation pricking at his tubes, the warmth that spread from his throat to his stomach, and the sweeter aftertaste of apple on his tongue.

            He wondered what Wirt tasted like.

            His heart raced again. He could feel it thumping, echoing throughout his body, fast. Too fast. So fast that it might burst. His breath followed. Now there was a rhythm of the two, but it wasn't steady, it was harsh and desperate. Why were they playing the same song for hours, maybe days? Why was Morty swinging the same motion with the wiimote over and over again? Why were they surrounded by strangers? They were all just shapes. Did they know why they were here? Could they tell something was wrong with him? Did they know he was gay? Would they hurt him for being so close to Wirt? Did they care? Did Wirt care? Which was worse, causing a scene and ruining everyone's fun or going completely unnoticed and left to die?

            "Wirt." Dipper was grateful that his voice still worked somehow. He gripped tighter onto his soft sweater. It was the last grip he had onto reality. Tighter still, he hung on for his life. He was slipping away. If he closed his eyes for too long, if he let go, he would die. He didn't know how he knew but he understood it strongly as the truth. Wirt was his lifeline and at any moment Dipper could perish into a black void. It was waiting for him. He was doomed.

            His breath hitched, hyperventilating now. He groaned in pain. He felt sick and scared.

            "Dipper, uh, you're grabbing my arm really tightly." Wirt spoke. He seemed so far away. He couldn't find his face.

            There was no space between Dipper's words as he hurriedly said, "Ohmygosh I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm such a... Please, Wirt, please. I-"

            "What?" Wirt looked at Dipper worriedly, starting to feel panic rise in his chest as well.

            "I'm sorry, I can't... I'm not..." He was breathing too hard to get anything coherent out. So many thoughts barraged his mind in an vicious tempest. He knew he was going to die. He kept holding on, feeling as though his grip was being pried apart by some unknown force and pulling him down into darkness. But at the same time, he knew nothing should be wrong. Why was this happening to him? How does he stop it?

            "Uhh," Wirt had to think fast on his toes, "What is going on? Do you... Should we get water? Is that something that I should get?"

            Dipper, trembling with fear, nodded urgently into his arm. "I'm sorry I'm ruining everything." He said. "I forced you to come here and I'm ruining everything and now I'm going to die, oh my god oh my god."

            "Dipper, hey, look at me." Wirt said forcefully, which only seemed to scare Dipper further. "O-Or you can look down. That's okay! Either way. It works. Okay. You're not going to die. At least, not that I know of? Are we... Are we going to die? Shoot. Should we leave? Would that help?"

            Dipper shook his head furiously.

            "Okay. Uh, do you want me to leave? Maybe things would be better if I just... yeah."

            "No, please! Don't... Don't, Wirt, please." Dipper squeezed his arm.

            "Ah! Got it. I won't leave then, I guess. I'll stay right here. Uh... Does... Does this help?" He began to hum a slow tune. His voice cracks a little on the high parts, but it reminds Dipper that he is real and he can breathe. The notes took form, like ribbons dancing in space. Dipper closed his eyes and followed the melody like a winding, mountain road. He focused on it. The world closed in on it. It was leading him to a different world. But Wirt's hand gently petting his shoulder was the string back to their world. He opened his eyes.

            The background pushed away from behind Wirt, warped and distorted. This room was gigantic. This world was too big. Too vast and prodigious. He was an insignificant spec. He grabbed Wirt's hand and now the world was too small and focused. Claustrophobic. It closed in on him. The shifting of perspectives made him nauseous.

            Wirt continued humming, dipping closer to Dipper's ear so he could hear and try to steady his breathing to the rhythm. Dipper wished Wirt would talk to him and tell him he wasn't going to die, but he didn't know. Even if he did, Dipper would not be able to trust him. Wirt helped Dipper stand up. He stumbled and gasped, so afraid he would fall. Wirt hummed louder. The humming clashed with the music that Morty danced to on the TV. It was sensory overload.

            The taller boy's face shone a shade of purple in the glow of the rainbow disco ball someone must have set up. Dipper held on to Wirt tightly, horrified at the thought of letting go. Wirt moved slowly. The world faded again. They were dancing, Dipper soon recognized. Well, Wirt was swaying and Dipper's limbs were clutched onto his so they swayed together. It only made him feel dizzy and more nauseous. Death still felt imminent. And if he was going to die, he might as well get something off his chest.

            Dipper's breaths were still too fast, he may have been sobbing and hiccupping without realizing it, but nevertheless he confessed hopelessly. "Wirt, I like you." It felt good and bad all at once, but he needed him to know. "I really, really like you."

 

\---

            Morty was feeling good, really good. He couldn't remember how many more wine coolers he had in addition to that straight vodka Rick so generously slipped him. All the alcohol and weed tickled his limbs, lifting them effortlessly to and fro, wiimote in hand precariously swinging to the rhythm. He was not actually playing a dancing game at all, but the music was just so damn good in this rpg, the controls so finicky, and everything was feeling so silly that he might as well have been playing a rhythm and movement game. It helped him forget about his parents and Rick and all the hellish things he's seen over the years that haunt his dreams at night. It was nice to let go and push all of his problems to the back of his mind where they belong. He laughed. On the screen, long fields of grass splayed out before him. He ran around, smashing expensive vases with his sword, collecting gems, shooting an arrow up to the sky for the hell of it. Now this was the type of adventure he and Rick should be going on. Roam the world, befriend the villagers, who wouldn't want that... Of course he remembers the one time he was able to choose the adventure.

            His palms still sweat at the thought. He could still feel those hungry eyes watching him. It pissed him off.

            He swung the controls a little more forcefully and accidentally jabbed it into the back of Wirt. He was about to apologize, but then he saw Dipper wrapped around him. They were holding each other and... dancing? Right. Wirt. The guy who came into Dipper's life and decided to lock him away from everybody else. To make matters worse, he didn't even notice Morty hit him. He flinched mildly then shushed him as if he was interrupting something vital. That condescending prick. Fuck that. _They_ were the ones interrupting _his_ good time.

            He threw the game controllers to the ground and shoved Wirt purposefully. "Hey!" He yelled over the music and clatter of the crowd. "Get the fuck out of my way!"

            "Oh, sorry!" Wirt pulled Dipper away from the now steaming boy.

            Morty's skin burned. He scowled at the two and followed them even though he just told them to leave. "You- you think you can just come in here and ruin my good fucking time?"

            "Wait, weren't you the one who invited me? And what are you talking about? You just shoved me out of nowhere!" Wirt said anxiously.

            "Yeah, and I'll do it again!" He did exactly that. Wirt struggled to hold the strangely limp Dipper up. "You wanna go, motherfucker?"

            Wirt blanched. "Me? No! I don't want to go anywhere with you! I'm trying to leave you alone!"

            "You don't know anything about me, asshole!" Morty couldn't stop this rage building and erupting out of him. He wanted to kill. He was out for their blood. God he wished he knew where Rick put his mecha suits right about now.

            "I never said I did!" Wirt held his arms up for mercy.

           Morty's hands clenched into tight fists. "You never got the chance to before Dipper pushed me out of his life. Because of you!"

            "Wait, wait, wait... You think that I stole him? That's nuts! I didn't do anything!" Dipper mumbled a string of wavering apologies to the two of them but was still unable to break away from Wirt's sweater. "Also, now is maybe not the best time?"

            "Then WHEN? Huh?" Morty brought his face close to theirs so they could look him in the eyes. "Did you ever plan to let me back in or were you just going to keep saying 'not today,' or, 'maybe later,' until I fucking died?"

            Wirt was visibly shaking under Morty's intensity. "How about we, um..."

            "How about you shut the FUCK up, okay? Just shut the goddamn hell up!"

            The party fell silent. It caved in on Dipper. He reached out for Wirt, eyes darting every direction, trying to find balance. He saw Morty's eyes filled with fiery rage, teeth clenched, his body vibrating and turning red. "Morty." He reached to him.

            "Don't fucking touch me!" Morty screamed and swung at him full force.

            He buried his fist into Dipper's eye socket. The frail boy went down hard onto the carpet. Wirt yelled his name and launched to his side, unsure of what to do. Dipper was out cold.

            Wirt wasn't sure if he was hallucinating this or not. He shook Dipper by the shoulders. His body flopped like a rag doll. Dipper was going on and on about how he was going to die- is this what he meant? Is he dead? Wirt rested his ear on the boy's chest to listen for a heartbeat and feel him breathing. He let out a sigh of relief  upon confirming he was still alive, just unconscious. He looked to Morty with wide eyes.

            "What the... Why was that necessary?" He asked.

            The rage in Morty's bones died down after coming to the realization that he just punched his best friend. He looked at his hands then brought them through his hair. He was still pissed off.

            "Why is anything necessary? God, I feel bad but you know what? It also felt kind of good to hurt someone who hurt me. Someone I can actually hurt back." He glanced at Rick playing cards in the kitchen.

            The commotion must have got the old man's attention because he threw his hand of cards down on the table and chided, "Yeesh, I can smell the subtext from here, Morty."

            He brought out his flask and took a sip as he walked over to investigate the scene, only to be disappointed because his flask was empty. He peered into the tiny opening but found nothing and placed it back into his coat pocket. Morty couldn't believe the priorities of his grandfather. Rick sensed Morty's disapproval and begrudgingly observed the fallen boy.

            "Wow, you really did it this time, huh Morty. You wanna start fist fights now, big shot? How about you stop projecting your dumbass little feelings onto your friends and c-UURP-ome at me!" Rick said.

            "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Morty folded his arms.

            "Come here you little shit!"

            Rick was quickly held back by Stan's firm hand on his bony shoulder.

            "Whoa! Hey, let me take care of this." He assured Rick. Rick let him take the stage. Stan took careful steps toward the teen that punched his great nephew and cracked his huge knuckles. "You realize I have absolutely no moral code against punching a kid, right?"

            Morty made a shrieking noise, a mixture of frustration and fear, and ran to the bathroom down the hall, slamming the door behind him.

            Wirt looked nervously at the two older men above him. "You can't just... I'll, uh. I'll talk to him." Crazy drunk old men. He felt a little bad for Morty, and Dipper, if that's what they had to deal with at home.

 

\---

 

            Wirt tentatively knocked on the door to the bathroom. "Hey, Morty?"

            "No, M-" The boy on the other side of the door seemed to have trouble stifling an incredulous laugh. "Morty isn't here. He went and slammed the door of the other bathroom. Who... Why would you even ask for me by name is what I'm saying here, that's- who else is gonna be in the place you just saw me go into? Where would I have gone?"

            "I'm sorry." Wirt said on reflex.

            "Oh, you're asking for Morty? Well, you're shit out of luck on that one. You know?"

            Okay, now he was being kind of an asshole about it. "I don't know! Okay? I don't know what I was supposed to say."

            "Jesus Christ... Look, not to be an ass but I would kind of rather die than talk to you right now, man."

            Wirt rested on the wall by the door and looked down dejectedly. "I know."

            "Why are you still here?" Morty asked irritably.

            "Shouldn't I like... I don't know, apologize?" Wirt shrugged.

            "Shouldn't you?" The voice grew more strained the longer this conversation ran.

            "Okay! Yeah, I'm... I'm apologizing. I'm sorry."

            "Wow, gee, I- you know, I wasn't going to forgive you before but DAMN that apology right now... Really hit it out of the park. I'm... There's no reason for any animosity for generations to come now. Woowee, I've gotta take a breather here." He exhales on a cooing kind of sound for much longer than necessary. "Really blew me away with all that humility."

            Wirt stared blankly at the white wall in front of him. "Oh. Okay. Well, you're drunk."

            Suddenly a loud retching sound echoes from inside the bathroom.

            "Morty?" Wirt leans closer to the door with concern.

            Morty coughs a few times before replying with egregious sass, "Yeah, I'm STILL here if you really weren't sure about that."

            Wirt slapped his forehead. "Right. Uh. Let me try again. I'm sorry that... What did I do exactly? Wait. Shouldn't you be the one apologizing? You're the one that flew off the handle and hit my..." He pauses. His? His what? "Dipper."

            " _Your_ Dipper?" Morty repeats.

            "I meant to just say Dipper! Or my friend! I don't know!" Wirt said.

            "Sure!" Morty said sarcastically before vomiting more, but he carries on with his voice echoing further off what Wirt can only assume must be the toilet bowl. "That's exactly it! He's all yours now!"

            There's a flush then the running of water as Wirt processes this statement. "Wait. What?"

            Morty emerges, startling Wirt. He wipes his mouth in front of him which comes off as oddly intimidating. He smells rancid. He grabs Wirt by his sweater and breathes toxic breath into his face.

            "Are you retarded?" Morty considered the word taboo until Rick came along. Now look at him. "He was my friend. We used to hang out every day and then you happened and suddenly I mean nothing again!"

            Wirt hung by Morty's grasp, afraid that trying to escape would only antagonize him. Something struck him about the last part of that sentence, though. "Again?"

            Morty released him and let his gaze fall to the floor.

            Wirt was beginning to understand why he was so upset. "I'm so sorry, Morty. I had no idea."

            "It's..." He sighed. "It's not your fault. Not really."

            "Not at all, actually but yeah. I'll... I'll stay out of your life. I won't talk to Dipper anymore. I'll move away! You can..."

            Morty laughed while he shook his head. Wirt was confused. "Geez, no you don't have to move, okay? I just miss him." Morty explained, returning to his more usual, timid self. "I was so angry that he dropped me like that, I guess I kind of lost control there. Ever since that damn purge planet I can't shake this craving for violence and justice."

            Wirt watched his hands tighten and began to back away slowly. "Well, I don't know about all that but I think all that planet stuff hurt Dipper?"

            Morty stood up straight and looked to Wirt. "Huh? What do you mean?"

            Wirt scratched his head and explained carefully, "Well, anytime he wanted to hang out with the three of us you always had to go on an adventure or something. I was there for the time on his birthday party..."

            "Goddammit." Morty seethed. "Every opportunity is stolen from me because of my goddamn grandpa. This whole time I should have stayed with Dipper instead of letting him drag me around."

            "Oh." Wirt said. The way Morty was talking about this seemed like he was really passionate about Dipper. "I, uh, didn't know you liked Dipper too."

            It took Morty a second to grasp back onto the conversation after that curveball. "Like Dipper? Wait, what the fuck? I don't like Dipper! I'm- I'm not gay! Not that there's anything wrong with- you like Dipper?"

            Wirt covered his mouth and froze. He quickly checked back at where Dipper was knocked out to see if he was awake but the body was no longer there. Alarmed, he waved his hands as if to stop Morty or shoo the words back into his mouth or guard them from spreading any further. "Shh! Keep your voice down!"

            "Holy shit." Morty marveled. "No wonder I was thrown to the side! You two were actually going on dates?"

            "No!" Wirt yelped, then whispered harshly, "No!"

            Morty rolled his eyes and walked toward the kitchen. "I think I need another drink."

            "After that?" Wirt gestured to the bathroom in astonishment.

           "I can handle it." He said and waved him off. Wirt tried not to read into that. Morty stopped short. "Do you... want one?"

            Wirt looked back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. Before Morty's patience ran out he stammered. "Uh, okay."


End file.
